


Ce Même Bonheur

by PlumBlueFlower



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Bathing/Washing, Biting, Body Dysphoria, Body Worship, Consensual Sex, Dominant Enjolras, Face Slapping, Foot Jobs, Foot Massage, Hair-pulling, Hand & Finger Kink, I'm sorry for my stupid, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kink Negotiation, Kneeling, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Marking, Master/Pet, Master/Servant, Master/Slave, Nipple Play, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not Beta Read, Oral Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Pining, Praise Kink, Riding, Safewords, Service Kink, Service Submission, Service Top, Submissive Grantaire, Tea, Trans Enjolras, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex, Verbal Humiliation, grantaire as a character exposes me so badly, please I would like an enjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:35:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28137798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlumBlueFlower/pseuds/PlumBlueFlower
Summary: Enjolras sometimes felt that he lacked control. Grantaire offered to him freely.Transjolras x Grantaire smut, my first fic for this fandom!Dedicated to nightrose and EmilyScarlett because their fics are fricking beautiful and I look up to them with the deepest admiration.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 22





	Ce Même Bonheur

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nightrose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightrose/gifts), [EmilyScarlett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmilyScarlett/gifts).
  * Inspired by [That Same Happiness](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28116075) by [PlumBlueFlower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlumBlueFlower/pseuds/PlumBlueFlower). 



> This is my first fic for this fandom, which I love dearly but never had the right idea for until now. Basically, I wrote a wlw reader insert that I realized fit the Enjoltaire dynamic really well and tweaked the situation and words at bit.
> 
> I hope you all like it! Please kudos, comment, and share! I am highly attention-starved and I love talking to enjoltaire friends!

Enjolras climbed out from the bath with a small splash, the now lukewarm water spilling over the edge. He snatched the towel from the rack and dried himself in a perfunctory manner. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. The red brands of his chest binding had grown flushed with the steam and he stifled the dissatisfaction associated with those unwanted … appendages. Meticulously looping the used towel over the rack, he swiped a red bathrobe from the hook and wrapped it around himself, the cut broadening his shoulders and forcing away the muted frustration he faced when it came to certain parts of him.

Some days, he wished to take a scalpel to his body, molding it back into its rightful form. The first time he voiced this, Combeferre smacked him upside the head and Jehan sent him over to a trusted tailor who all but erased his worries. Enjolras was in a far better place now, and he owed a great debt to his comrades for helping him get there, even that oaf, Grantaire. He would, begrudgingly, never forget that night after the meeting, when he began to bleed due to biological obligation, and soiled his trousers. Grantaire simply gave him his own, walking home in the autumn chill completely bare legged. Enjolras had cried in front of him, but he never once looked at him in pity, nor treated him as anything less than the man he was. 

It was at those moments, that Enjolras had to admit that he truly cared for the artist, But said moments were few and far between, and their regular interactions consisted of a dichotomy of Enjolras’ biting scorn and Grantaire’s drunk ramblings. 

Suddenly, a knock came at the door. Enjolras let out a sigh and called over whomever it was to enter his apartment. If it was any of Les Amis de l'ABC, they had a key and he trusted them with his life. He took a glance at his gun, just in case, before straightening his posture rather regally for a revolutionary. 

When Grantaire opened the door, his breath caught slightly as he drank in the vision of his Apollo wrapped in a bathrobe, fabric hugging his figure gently. Collecting himself, he set the rolled posters down at the table and bowed deeply in Enjolras’ direction, a jaunty smirk on his lips. His hands gripped a pouch of what looked like tea leaves. 

"Good evening, dear Apollo," he greeted, voice weighted with hidden adoration. Confusion swam over Enjolras’ peerless features as he tried to discern the artist’s tone. Grantaire bit his lip in an attempt to hold back a chuckle at his god’s oblivious nature. 

"Good evening," Enjolras replies in his typically curt manner, "Why are you here? Is everything alright with you? Or is it Amis business?"

"It's n-neither, Enjolras," he stammered, face flushing slightly at the authoritative inquisition, "This humble believer just wanted to drop off the finished posters and offer you some t-tea for relaxation. Forgive me for my audacity, but you looked rather tense throughout the day. I’m sorry to disturb you, I’ll leave--"

"No, you may stay," Enjolras offered, taken aback by Grantaire’s concern. As far as he knew, that man had no regard for him except to contradict his ideas and ramble on about his nihilism.

"I would not mind the company," he added plainly, surprising with his own admission.

"Thank you, Enjolras," he gushed, bowing jokingly once again with a bright smile. Enjolras rolled his eyes at the exaggeratedly obeisant gesture. 

“May I use your stove?” Grantaire requested, “I only brought the tea leaves, since I didn’t want it to grow cold and I believe your cupboards could use the decoration.”

“Do as you please.”

Grantaire nodded cheerfully and set to work in the kitchen. Enjolras felt an odd sense of comfort at the scene. He parsed through some budgets for the new shipment of weapons in the candlelight. His ‘accompaniment’ was Grantaire’s shuffling in the room across. The patter of footsteps, the crackling of the stove, the artist’s absentminded humming. It felt rather like a home now, more than a mere habitance. 

After a few minutes of not-too-concentrated reading, Enjolras lifted his head to see Grantaire standing silently staring at him with an odd look. As soon as they locked eyes, Grantaire turned his gaze downwards, murmuring an apology for disturbing Enjolras.

“The tea is ready, shall I bring it here?” he asked gently, rough voice subdued and placid. Enjolras nodded rather dumbly and Grantaire darted into the kitchen and returned with a tray in his hands, with a teapot and teacup set Enjolras was only vaguely aware he possessed. 

He brought the tray closer and placed it on the aptly-named coffee table. He crouched slightly next to the low table, grasped the teapot, and let the clear golden tea flow into the cup, steam billowing gently as the liquid settled. He lifted it in both hands and offered it to Enjolras.

The revolutionary took the teacup into his hands, swirling it lightly to check for the consistency of poisons, only out of habit. He held Grantaire’s gaze for a moment, searching his eyes for any hint at his true purpose in being here. 

Strange, he could not even see the transactional guilt brought on when asking a favor, nor the mocking disdain of one who comes to visit some sort of lost cause. Enjolras was somewhat soothed by the sincerity and took a sip of the tea, letting the gentle blend of herbs run past his lips, warmth flooding through his body. 

"This is wonderful," Enjolras complimented, voice light and almost cheerful, "Do you know what blend it is?"

"Ah, yes, actually," Grantaire chirped excitedly, chest swelling with pride, "It is a green tea with jasmine and lemon balm, with the slightest bit of valerian. I got the recipe from Combeferre, but I made the blend myself. He said that his old herbal doctor acquaintance used to make this to help patients ease their minds."

The realization of his misstep washed over him and his voice trailed off in regret. He paused for a moment and frowned, bowing his head morosely.

"I didn’t mean to imply that you are unwell," he apologized earnestly, "I fear I may have come across patronizing."

"You did no such thing, Grantaire," Enjolras replied tenderly, touched by something he couldn't name, "Lift your head. And please speak freely. I find that I enjoy your company, somehow."

"I am most honored to please you," he demurred, though he could not restrain his tongue from flicking over his bottom lip, already dry with daring anticipation. He wondered whether to hope it went unnoticed or that Enjolras caught his insolence. He decided to pray for the latter and gave his Apollo an invitingly easy smile.

"So, how was the poster painting? I know it is better suited to your talents than what happened at Barrière du Maine." Enjolras inquired, eyes flashing with surprise and something a little darker. 

"I apologize once again for my complete and utter failure back then," Grantaire replied, looking downwards and straining to keep his voice even, "But I believe that my work will inspire support. I may lack confidence in myself, but I believe in my art and my dedication to you."

"That incident is forgiven, do not worry so much about it. " he replied, recalling the memory of the man’s blunder and following repentance some time ago, "Did you find any difficulties in having copies made or finding supplies?"

"This servant is grateful that you still permit me to bother you," Grantaire answered, genuinely thankful to be allowed in his presence, “I was able to get the posters painted and copied rather easily. Aside from a few instances, there was no severe disturbance."

"A few incidents?" Enjolras inquired, frowning at the vague nature of the answer, "Could you explain further?"

Grantaire lowered his gaze and edged closer to the door. The memories of jeers and unwanted touches bubbled in his mind. In his heart, Grantaire trusted Enjolras would not fault him for it, after all he was subpar in so many other attributes that this wouldn’t matter. He was a good and capable man who cared about justice and freedom. A fierce angel in the decadent hell of Paris. Grantaire wished he could just whisk him away to a wondrous utopia where there was no need for revolution. A world where all his dreams came to fruition, and one where Grantaire could simply accompany Enjolras and give him the love and adoration he deserved. 

He might paint Enjolras’ portrait as he read in his armchair, reclining peacefully. Welcome him home from a hectic day in court, congratulating him on his newest victory as a lawyer, the career Enjolras had often mused would be his calling if not for the cries of revolution. Shower him with praise and love and every sweet thing in the world, just as he deserved. More than anything, Grantaire wanted to chase away the pained anger in his eyes and replace it with a perpetual shine he had only caught a glimpse of when their first worker’s strike succeeded.

With trust in his heart, he looked up, eyes bitter but no longer fearful of scorn.

"Well, some of the merchants," he started hesitantly, "They would ask me for a favor in exchange for materials, access to a printing press. You have often said I was drenched in debauchery. You were not wrong. Suffice it to say, I did what I had to do. For you."

"Those monsters," Enjolras growled, his teacup cracking with the force of his grip. Grantaire flinched at the shattering crack, but immediately took the cup from his hands, the hot tea leaking onto your palm as he checked Enjolras’ hand for cuts. His touch trails over his pale wrist, soft skin warm against his fingertips. Grantaire disposed of the cup and wiped away the honeyed water dripping over his own palm. Taking an ill-advised chance, he brought his hand to his lips, sucking away the jasmine-scented streams from his fingers. Grantaire locked eyes with Enjolras for only a flash, and looked down instantly, though the hint of lust in the blonde’s eyes was unmistakable. 

"I apologize for what you were forced to endure. I wish I had not compelled you to submit to such atrocities," Enjolras offered almost weakly. Grantaire stepped closer, wishing with all his heart that he could reach out and pull him into his arms, running his hands through Enjolras’ soft hair, all over his body. 

"It is not your fault, Enjolras," Grantaire declared, voice strained with shock, "It could never be your fault. It was a decision I made gladly, and one that is familiar to me, and no that’s not your fault either. You try so hard to protect us, to uplift this city. It could never be your fault."

"And I thank you for that," he offered, words flowing out contrary to his self-control, "But it just feels like I can't do anything about it. I am forced to watch all this suffering and shame without batting an eye. This lack of control, it may kill me one day. I detest it. Forgive me for complaining, I know I live a privileged life as the son of a wealthy family, but there is only so much a man can take."

"There is nothing to forgive," Grantaire replied quickly, his admiration growing even more intense at Enjolras’ poignant vulnerability, "And I may have a solution. As pitiful as it may be, this servant--"

His voice tapered off, heart pounding all too fast for his body. The words coming to the tip of his tongue would push the envelope, and he would have to watch it bend. Taking a deep breath, Grantaire continued to speak.

"I wish to offer you the control that you were robbed of," he explained, voice wavering with uncertainty and barely restrained desire, "If you cannot control the world around you, perhaps you could control me."

Enjolras looked at him incredulously, eyes widened and cheeks tinged coral. Grantaire gauged his expression to find no hint of anger and continued. 

"I may be just a worthless drunk," Grantaire admitted, "And I know that it is presumptuous of me to believe that I could help you of all people in any way but--"

"What do you mean by 'control you'?" Enjolras asked, voice sharply demanding, yet also curious.

"I would do anything you asked," Grantaire promised, "You could use me, beat me, whatever it would take to give you back what you have lost. I am nothing before you and I would gladly submit to any order you give."

"I don't want to take advantage of you like that!" Enjolras cried out angrily, "I don't want to be the same as--"

"Enjolras," Grantaire pleaded, "This is nowhere near the tyranny you so despise. I give myself to you willingly, a social contract if you must. I have no qualms about your power over me, unlike those whom they force. You deserve to be treated like a god, and if you find this servant suitable, let me be your sacrifice."

"We have to establish some sort of safety measure," Enjolras retorted sharply, the inner turmoil leaving a bitter taste on his tongue, "I worry that you will submit beyond what you like. I could not do that to anyone."

"I humbly thank you for your concern, dear Apollo. I would never dare expect you to be so considerate," he replied, "If I ever feel uncomfortable, I shall say the word “Robespierre”, and if I cannot speak, I shall tap you thrice. Though anything you do to me would be a blessing in this servant's eyes."

Enjolras seemed to be lost in thought for a moment, and Grantaire was consumed with dread. Perhaps he had overstepped your bounds or proved inadequate for his service. He chided himself for expecting any more than the scorn he deserved. A mere drunkard could never offer anything to a god, and Grantaire was woefully wrong to make that judgment.

"Kneel."

A piece of magnesium alighted in his head, blinding Grantaire from all thought except the sound of Enjolras’ voice. He dropped to the ground, knees almost slamming against the floorboards. His legs slid apart instinctively and he could feel himself hardening already. He stole a glance at the beautiful man before bringing his gaze down in submission. Enjolras’ pupils were dilated, and his lips were parted in what Grantaire thought was awe and hopefully desire. 

"Come here."

Grantaire shifted onto his hands and knees and crawled towards the revolutionary, keeping his shoulders close to the ground and swaying his hips seductively. His skin burnt with unabashed desire and he was overcome with the haze of submission. He found his place at Enjolras’ feet, kneeling as one would at an altar. Enjolras hooked a finger under his chin and forced Grantaire eyes to meet his. The artist could see the fire of dominance igniting in Enjolras’ features, his smile flickering between tender warmth and cold control. 

"I did not ask you to crawl, pet," he mused, his smirk sending shivers down Grantaire’s spine.

"I thought it would please you," he purred, returning Enjolras’ smile, "Master."

A rush spread through Grantaire at the last word and he felt his pants grow wonderfully tight, his cock straining against the fabric. Droplets of precum turned the cloth dark and wet, and it did not escape Enjolras' eye. Grantaire let out a pathetic whimper as his master ran his foot over his own dick, gesturing for Grantaire to free himself from the confines. Grantaire shivered as the chill of the evening struck his bare skin, Enjolras’ foot running over his shaft. 

"Look at yourself," Enjolras laughs, freely for once in his life, "You're so hard and desperate for me. Are you sure this wasn't all just a ploy to seduce me for your own selfish pleasure?"

"No master!" Grantaire denied vehemently, whining as Enjolras’ sole cruelly pressed against him, "I j-just wanted to p-please you. You're just so perfect, I w-wanted to g-give you the w- you deserved, Master."

"You take to submission so naturally, don't you?" he mused, taking himself lightly in hand as he continued to play with Grantaire. The artist-turned-slave whined at the rustling of cloth and the sound of Enjolras’ hand rubbing against himself, trails of saliva running down Grantaire’s jaw in anticipation. 

"Of course I do, Master," he moaned, "How could I do anything but submit when you are in my presence? Gods, the power you hold over me. If you commanded me to stop my own heart, I'd do it in an instant. You own me, Master. Life, body, and soul."

"I own you?" Enjolras repeats, raising an eyebrow in disdainful amusement. His head tilted to the side in intrigue, a devilish smirk playing on his lips.

"Tell me, slave," he continued, "What exactly can you do? I own you, so you must have some use for me?"

"I would do anything for you," he panted, the desperate need for release rising in his core, "Anything at all, Master! Please, please, let me serve you. I beg of you, Master, please!"

"Give me specifics," he commanded sharply and Grantaire could feel his voice slice through him, "Entertain me, won't you?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but could only moan in assent, overwhelmed by the sensation of being underfoot in such a deliciously humiliating way. Suddenly, Enjolras’ hand slapped across his face, leaving a stinging handprint against Grantaire’s cheek. He leaned into the man’s touch, whining as Enjolras stroked his flushed skin.

"When I speak to you," Enjolras hissed, grasping Grantaire’s hair and forcing his face to turn up towards his critical gaze, "You answer me. You should be grateful that I even let you serve me." 

"Yes, Master! Thank you for giving me the honor of serving you," he pleaded, almost sobbing in pleasure, "I'm just a worthless slave for you, Master. I could not exist without you."

"So, answer my question properly, slave," Enjolras ordered, "What will you do to serve your Master?" 

"I would worship your body, all the way to the ground you walk on," Grantaire started, words spilling out like molten gold, “I want to kiss you all over and praise you and show you how grateful I am to be your slave. I want to service you with my tongue and bring you the sweetest release. Please, Master, let your slave fulfill his only purpose in life.”

Tears glistened in Grantaire’s eyes as he looked up at his master, and he couldn’t help but spread his legs wider and clasp his hands together in a mockery of prayer. 

“Worship me then, from the ground I walk on,” Enjolras laughed, letting go of the artist’s hair and massaging his scalp absentmindedly. Grantaire murmured a solemn thanks, and bowed his head to the floor, brushing his lips against the floorboards. His face flamed with humiliation at the act, but it is the most euphoric feeling he’d ever experienced.

“You wouldn’t believe what this does to me,” Grantaire whispered, “It feels like absolution, like I’m in my rightful place in life. To see this look on your face, I’d gladly sacrifice my life, time, and time again. Master, may I touch you?”

“You may,” Enjolras cooed patronizingly, “How could I deny such a well-behaved little thing?”

Grantaire brought his hands to Enjolras’ right foot, caressing it like glass. His left still teased Grantaire’s leaking cock, gently dripping kerosene on the flames of pleasure in his nerves. His hands massage Enjolras’ tired skin, pressing skillfully at the points he had seen labelled in one of Combeferre’s books. Enjolras let out an appreciative sigh at his ministrations and Grantaire brought his foot to his lips, peppering his master’s skin with reverent kisses. He trailed up his calves, feeling the muscles flex against his grip. 

“You’re so strong, Master,” Grantaire breathed, “I can feel your blood rushing. It feels like the sunrise. You’re so perfect, I can’t believe you let someone like me near you. I can’t thank you enough, Master, please--”

He trailed off as his cock twitched in need, Enjolras’ foot still rubbing over it softly. 

“Please what?” he inquired, spreading his legs so that Grantaire could draw his attention to his thighs.

“Please,” Grantaire begged, sucking lightly at the taut flesh of his inner thighs, “Please, let me serve you forever. Please let me be your faithful slave for all eternity. Let me give you the eternal bliss you deserve, Master.” 

He could taste Enjolras’ slick, glistening on his skin along with your own saliva. Grantaire laved his tongue over the streams, savoring Enjolras’ sweet, intoxicating taste. He let out precious gasps as Grantaire nipped lightly, leaving a trail of soft pink marks. Just as Grantaire neared his slit, Enjolras grabbed him by the hair, forcing him away. Grantaire whined petulantly, throwing his master a frustrated look. Still caught up in his lust he pulled against his grip, futilely attempting to resume his service. Enjolras struck him across the face and he immediately ceased his writhing, suitably chastised for his greed.

“Please, Master,” Grantaire mumbled anxiously, “I know I am not worthy of you, but I beg you to let me continue my--”

“Be patient, boy,” he chided, “You will earn that right in time. If you remain good for me."

"Yes, of course, Master," Grantaire conceded, frantically nodding against Enjolras’ grip in his hair. He unfurled his robes and trailed his finger up from his navel, beckoning him to follow his guidance.

Grantaire knelt up, cheek pressed against Enjolras’ toned abs as he showered his midriff with kisses.

"You are arrestingly handsome, Master," Grantaire purred against his muscles, "I feel as though you have bound me at your feet with chains of starlight. Do you not think it unhinged for a prisoner to so deeply adore his warden?"

"Only a little," Enjolras replied lightly, "But I think it to be rather romantic as well. You're so adorably sweet to me."

"How can I not be?" Grantaire laughed, voice hoarse at the praise, "I do not think myself even capable of thinking ill of you. Master, words cannot express how much I love you."

Grantaire paused for a moment, furrowing his brow at the sudden dilemma. He knew that Enjolras took care to bind his chest most days, but it seemed to be bare at the moment.

“Master, would it please you if I,” Grantaire paused for a moment before continuing smoothly, “Would it please you if I attended to your chest as well?”

“It would please me,” Enjolras accepted after a moment of thought, silently appreciating Grantaire’s consideration. Grantaire nodded with a bright smile and leaned forward.

He kissed up Enjolras’ chest and took a pink bud to his lips, humming in contentment as it hardened against his tongue. He growled as Grantaire snaked his hands over his body, circling his waist, running over his skin. Grantaire switched to the other nipple and he threw his head back lightly in pleasure.

Enjolras’ scent was all the more overwhelming to Grantaire now, a mixture of light soap and his own natural taste. Grantaire was addicted to his master’s body, and he doubted his ability to survive without it after tonight. Enjolras pulled him into his lap, permitting Grantaire to straddle him. Grantaire was so tantalizingly tempted to grind against his god, but Enjolras had given no such order and Grantaire would not disobey him. His cock wept with need but he could see the dark amusement in Enjolras’ eyes as he watched his slave’s frustration, indulging in Grantaire’s sweet suffering, which he gladly offered.

Enjolras pulled Grantaire away after some time to redirect his mouth to his hand. Grantaire took a finger into his mouth, sucking it while gazing up at his imperious eyes. He kissed all over Enjolras’ hand, massaging the velvety skin of his wrist, tracing the lines of fate crossed over his palm. His fingertips were rough and quill-calloused, bearing the marks of proud words and strength. As Grantaire kissed up Enjolras’ arm, his biceps strained against Grantaire’s light grip, and his lust-addled mind longs to see them flex as his master choked him. He made his way to Enjolras’ shoulder and paused for a moment, growing shy at the sudden desire he had to mark his god’s flesh.

“Why have you stopped, R?” Enjolras asked rather sweetly, more concerned than displeased, “Are you--”

“No, of course not!” Grantaire denied quickly, “I am so embarrassingly eager to serve you, Master. It is just that--”

“Do not hesitate, slave,” he ordered, blue eyes going cold as ice, “I will hear nothing but the truth from you. You are my possession and you will not hide your thoughts from me?”

“Yes, Master,” Grantaire murmured, bowing his head as his face flared with hot shame. Enjolras gripped his hair once again and forced him to meet his gaze.

“Look at me,” Enjolras commands, voice sharp as steel, “And tell me what you are thinking.”

“Yes, Master,” Grantaire whined as Enjolras slid his free hand under his shirt and twisted his nipple, “This slave wanted to mark your shoulder like the filthy animal he is. I know it is well above what I deserve, but Master, you make me lose all inhibition! Please, forgive me, I would never do such a thing without your permission and I know it is insolent of me, but I beg you to let your slave mark you, to show my devotion to you, please.”

“My darling boy,” Enjolras purred, flicking away a tear streaming down Grantaire’s cheek, “I would love nothing more than to feel you mark me like the dirty bitch you are. Go feral for me, hmm?”

Grantaire kissed at his shoulder and bit down, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the moan of pleasure he’d elicited from his master’s lips. He ran his tongue along the reddened indents and kissed along Enjolras’ collarbone. His insistent mouth soon reached the crook of his neck and he sucked gently to leave a flushed mark over the thin skin. Enjolras’ hand continued to tease him under his wine-stained chemise, toying with his nipples and glancing against his throat. Grantaire kissed along the sharp line of his jaw and nipped at his ear. He brushed his golden hair away and leaned in with a smile.

“May I kiss you, my dear Master?” he whispered, voice wavering with the sheer force of your admiration.

“You may,” Enjolras replies, caressing your cheek, in a rare gesture of open affection, “My dear slave.”

Enjolras claimed his slave’s lips in a passionate kiss, his tongue slipping into Grantaire’s mouth and exploring him relentlessly. Grantaire melted into his master’s embrace, the soft hint of the herbal tea tickling his tongue. It felt like fireworks were erupting all throughout his skin, like his mind had dissolved into heady wine. He could feel his chest clench for air, but was far too overcome with devotion to care for something so pathetic as life. 

Enjolras broke away from him gently, panting slightly at the sudden intake of air. His pupils were blown-out in lust and his plush lips were crimson and kiss-swollen, glistening in the lamplight. Grantaire buried his face into the crook of his neck and he found himself holding back tears.

“Thank you, Master,” he breathed, “Thank you for letting me kiss you. This slave does not deserve your kindness.”

“You have been so good for me,” Enjolras mused, “So obedient and pliant. You have far exceeded the submission you promised me.”

“Master, I am just happy to have pleased you,” Grantaire sighed, elated by the tender praise. He felt so wonderfully at peace in Enjolras’ arms, but he wanted something more. Of course, it was not his place to ask any more than he received. But he couldn’t hold back a wanting whimper.

“Ah, someone’s eager for more,” Enjolras laughed, much to his slave’s embarrassment, “I think you have earned the right to fulfill the rest of your promise. Service me with your tongue and bring me the sweetest release, you said?”

“This slave is deeply honored by your regard, Master,” Grantaire demurred, slipping away from Enjolras’ lap and dropping to his knees once again. His master nodded silently, and he leaned forward, lapping at his shimmering inner thighs. He bowed his head to reach Enjolras’ slit, licking at the pink folds. It tasted like crystal sugar and Grantaire swirled his tongue against his clit, sucking lightly. Enjolras’ hips thrusted towards Grantaire’s face and he cried out at the kneeling man’s skillful stimulation. When Grantaire began to slip his tongue into Enjolras’ hole, his thighs clenched together, binding the artist in place. He felt Enjolras’ muscle resting over his shoulder, the heat of his thighs against his own neck, tightening ever so slightly. 

Grantaire closed his eyes, immersing himself in the floating haze of service. It felt like he was submerged in the sea, his only connection to the surface being the groans of pleasure from the man above and his gently guiding grip in his hair. Grantaire’s cock leaked furiously, stimulated at the mere thought of pleasing his master. Perhaps he should have been embarrassed at how pathetically eager he was, but Grantaire could not seem to find any reason to be ashamed. After all, no one would call the believer who bows before the heavens pathetic. They would be termed faithful, and Grantaire is faithful as well. Forever dedicated to the cause of his Master’s happiness. 

“You’re so fucking good at this,” Enjolras growls, voice deep with arousal, “It’s all you’re good for, serving me.”

“Yes, Master!” Grantaire cried against his master’s skin, “I’m just a slave for your pleasure. Thank you for letting me please you, Master, thank you.”

He continued his worship, and soon enough Enjolras clenched like a vice, shuddering as release flowed through him. Grantaire’s tongue guided him through completion and he pulled away gradually, careful to avoid overstimulating his master. His own worthless cock was pleading for release, or even the slightest stimulation. Grantaire bit his lip to keep quiet, not wanting to disturb the peaceful silence of his god’s afterglow. Enjolras pulled him into his lap and brushed away the sheen of sweat on Grantaire’s brow. The slave shook slightly, trying almost futilely to stop himself from seeking stimulation. 

“You’re trembling like a leaf in the wind,” Enjolras chided with a sinful smirk, “Is everything alright?”

He slipped his hand in between Grantaire’s thighs, and the man spread his legs automatically. Enjolras spread his precum all over his skin, teasingly fondling his balls. Grantaire whined desperately and clenched his fists, willing himself to remain obedient. 

“Master,” he started, lips feeling heavy with the shameful audacity of his request, “I am so grateful that I was permitted to pleasure you. Truly, it was the greatest honor I could receive from you and I elated, positively ecstatic, that my submission pleased you, Master. This servant sincerely apologizes for his demanding request but please, would you--”

“Have you grown aroused in your service?” Enjolras inquired, gripping Grantaire’s shaft tightly and teasing at his head, “How improper of you.”

“I apologize, Master,” he whispered, regretful tears blurring your vision, “Please forgive your worthless servant. I asked for too much, I’m sorry, I’m--”

“Hush now, boy,” Enjolras interrupted, kissing him sweetly, “I was only teasing you. I will certainly consider your request. But you never told me what exactly you wanted.”

He tapped Grantaire’s cheek in a light slap, more demeaning than painful. He snapped out of his dread and looked him in the eyes, flushing in humiliation. 

“Please, Master,” he begged, “I beseech you to grant your slave release. I’m so hard for you, Master. I’m just a pathetic whore, but Master, you make me feel like I’m on fire and I can’t help but pray for your mercy. Please, Master, please.”

“You beg so sweetly, I’m tempted to leave you warning for the whole night, pleading for relief with those pretty, pretty words,” Enjolras laughs, rubbing at Grantaire’s leaking slit.

“If it pleases you,” he sobbed, swallowing nervously as he prepared to obey his master’s cruel order, “Anything to please you, Master.” 

“You really would do anything for me?” Enjolras breathed in muted incredulity, voice weighted with warmth, “My beautiful little slave. Your master has elected to grant you mercy.” 

He pulled Grantaire into his arms as he stood and gently tossed him onto the bed. Grantaire’s trousers fell to the floor and he could feel the cotton sheets rubbing against his shirt. He spread his legs wide, hands clasped above his head.

“Thank you for your benevolence,” Grantaire purred, eyes worshipful in the most sinful way, “Please, play with your toy, Master.” 

Enjolras sat on the bed, reclining comfortably between Grantaire’s legs. Leaning over, he pulled Grantaire’s chemise up to his wrists and fashioned the fabric into a hasty knot. Grantaire was left naked and vulnerable to Enjolras’ every desire, and he squirmed in shy ecstasy. Enjolras fisted his cock, stroking him once again as he opened his slit, already dripping wet in excitement. Grantaire babbled incoherent thank-you’s as Enjolras took his tip into his mouth, suckling sweetly and lapping up the translucent fluid. Suddenly, he pulled away, and Grantaire whined indignantly at the loss. Enjolras slapped his slave’s inner thigh sharply as chastisement and shrugged off his robe completely. He straddled Grantaire’s hips and he let out an appreciative moan at the realization of what his master had planned. 

“If it’s too much, you know what to say,” Enjolras explained calmly, a light smirk on his lips, “And don’t you dare climax without permission.”

“Of course, Master! I would never, ahn--”

Grantaire’s assent is interrupted as Enjolras slid onto his cock in one fluid motion. He began to push himself up and down, moaning at the stretch. Grantaire writhed and moaned at the stimulation, surrounded by his master’s tight heat. He could feel his muscles move so intimately now, pulsing around him.

“You’re so shamelessly responsive for me,” Enjolras teased, ‘It’s a beautiful sight to see you go to pieces for me.”

“Just want to please-mmmmm”

Grantaire cut himself off as Enjolras clenched his hole, chasing the stimulation to his sweet spot. He shifted slightly to lean over his slave, reaching for Grantaire’s chest as he used the man’s dick like a mere toy. His hands twisted and pinched at his nipples while he continued to fuck himself wantonly. Grantaire’s lips parted at the intensity of the dual stimulation, saliva spilling from the corner of his mouth. He felt his dick twitch erratically, screaming for climax, pleading for release. 

“M-master, p-please let me c-cum,” he stuttered, barely able to form the words. 

Enjolras stopped his movements and circled a hand around his slave’s neck, pressing at the sides. Grantaire’s head went hazy with the restriction and he clawed at the sheets for purchase 

“Beg for it, slave.”

“Please, please, let me cum, Master!” Grantaire cried out, trembling with strain, “I just want to be good for you, give you a show. Please, I’m so good for you, Master. I beg of you, please, please. I’ll do anything.”

“You’ll do anything regardless,” Enjolras chided, smirking devilishly at Grantaire’s shameful pleas, tightening his grip on the man’s throat, “Cum for me.”

And with that order, he let go of his restraint and immersed himself in the pleasure, spilling into Enjolras’ hole, which tightened with his own release, lightheaded from the lack of air. As Grantaire slowly began to calm himself, Enjolras released his grip on his slave’s throat and lifted himself away, moaning as he felt the white streaks of Grantaire’s climax run down his thighs. Grantaire rose silently and Enjolras pulled him into a tight embrace, murmuring soft praises that the artist’s mind could fully comprehend. Much to Grantaire’s chagrin, Enjolras ran a washcloth over his body, but he was too floaty to protest the burden he felt Enjolras was enduring. The revolutionary gestured for him to wait patiently as he changed the sheets, stained with twin release. Grantaire knelt at the foot of the bed, mind caught in the memories of the evening. Enjolras tossed him a fresh nightshirt from his closet and slipped into one himself. Grantaire sighed at his master’s scent wrapping around him, bowing deeply in thanks.

After a moment to collect himself, Grantaire stood up on shaky legs, forcing himself to remember his place. Just as he grasped the cool metal of the door handle, Enjolras abruptly sat up in the bed.

“Where do you think you are going?” he inquired, voice sharp yet tinged with worry.

“This servant is returning to his hovel, so that he would not disturb his master,” Grantaire explained, trying as much to keep the bitter taste of abandonment out of his voice. 

“The night is cold,” Enjolras offered simply, “Accompany me.”

He lifted the covers and Grantaire’s eyes widened at the gesture. His feet dragged like stone as he made his way to Enjolras’ side. He crawled under the sheets and the blonde pulled him into his arms, warm body pressed against his own. Just as Grantaire fell asleep, he caught sight of Enjolras’ smile.

It was that same happiness, he had strived to bring him all this time.

**Author's Note:**

> By the way, I am AFAB genderfluid, so please don't come after me about fetishizing. That's rude as hell.
> 
> Please tell me where exactly the nasty you's are. I am very blind and will try to fix them myself, but I'm really small brain.
> 
> Update: I'm pretty sure I fixed the you's and thank you the people who let me know :)


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